When I write to a deadline, everything that isn’t vital else gets dropped. This includes:

  1. real cleaning, not just surface stuff.
  2. Shopping for food, instead I grab what I need while passing the supermarket.
  3. Folding washing, instead it’s in a pile and everyone has to fend for themselves, hence my husband putting on my son’s tracksuit pants and then wondering why they were at half mast.
  4. Plants go dry in their pots, leaves pile up around the garden.
  5. My grey hair starts to show and my skin is drier than old Priest’s tit.

I met the deadline Thursday night. Whizzing the manuscript to London and falling into a tired heap at midnight.

Yesterday, I had a day off.

Now a day off can mean many things to different people. Mine was to do what I wanted to do as it came to me, and part of it was having some semblance of order in my house again.

I cleaned but didn’t resent it as I chose to do it, not because I had to.

I wandered around my garden with secateurs and snipped at things for my own amusement, not for any great pruning experience.

I watered and fed the pot plants.

I gave myself a facial.

I pottered.

I played with the dogs.

I read some of Letters to a Young Poet.

I ran a few errands.

I wore lipstick.

I didn’t think about writing.

Instead I got about living.

It was a pleasant change but I look forward to heading back into to my imagination again soon.




2 thoughts on “Yo.”

  1. I’d love to spend some time in your imagination too, Kate! I can imagine it would be a wondrous place – a mixture of divine writing, a bit of swearing, a few tears, and lots of laughter.

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